


All Your Tomorrows

by FlavorofKylo



Category: Actor RPF
Genre: Adam Driver - Freeform, Blow Job-okay it's more like Cock Worship--literally, Explicit Language, F/M, Masturbation in Shower, Metafiction, RPF, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:07:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24709609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlavorofKylo/pseuds/FlavorofKylo
Summary: This work is based on a RPF/Metafiction challenge centered on Adam Driver.You could say that FlavorofKylo gets a taste of...umm, Kylo.   (Sorry, I couldn't help myself.)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 28
Collections: Adam Driver RPF Challenge





	All Your Tomorrows

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work of FICTION. I have never met Adam Driver (sadly), his family, his agent, or anyone else in his universe. I make no claim that what is contained herein has any basis in reality, other than that which directly relates to myself, the author, and my life. The rest is solely a product of my dirty little mind. This fiction is intended for entertainment purposes and as an artistic exercise; it is not intended to demean or cause harm to Adam Driver, his wife, his agent, or anyone else.

“To deny our own impulses is to deny the very thing that makes us human.”  
The Matrix, 1999

Chapter 1 Fan-fucking-fiction.

Wednesday morning, 9:45 am. Brooklyn, NY.

It was one of those sublime November mornings in New York; the air was crisp and sharp, the light crystalline; orange and gold leaves dusted the edges of the city. Adam didn’t have time to notice though, as he hit the gas and his Porsche roared out of the garage towards the Brooklyn Bridge. He had a photo shoot at Rolling Stone to get to, and he sure as shit did not want to be late. He put on his Ray Bans, sipped his coffee and focused on weaving through the traffic. He was so fixated on driving that the ring of his iphone jangled his nerves. He glanced at the number: Randi. With a sigh, he hit the button.

“Morning, Randi, I’m on my way to Rolling Stone as we speak.”

“Adam, it’s Bobby. Randi asked me to call you. She has something she wants you to read.”

“Another script? Just ask her to send it over. I’m running late—”

“It’s not a script.”

Adam grumbled. It was too early for this sort of conversation. “Well, what is it, Bobby?”

“It’s um…it’s fanfiction.”

“Come again?” he snorted.

Adam paused. He raked a hand through his thick dark waves and reminded himself not to snap at Bobby; poor kid was just doing his job. Still, he was sure that if Randi wasn’t calling herself, whatever this was probably wasn’t worth his time.

“Fanfiction? Bobby, has Randi started drinking at 9am or something?”

Bobby cleared his throat. “Yeah, I mean no. She’s serious. She said this is something really unusual and it could make a good script, if we can find the person who wrote it. And if they agree to give up the rights.”

“That’s a lot of ifs, Bobby.” He let out a frustrated sigh. Adam took another slug of coffee from the tumbler by his knee. The coffee helped to reinstate a little self-control.

“Wait, why is she wasting her time reading fanfiction in the first place? Stuff is garbage.”

“Apparently, her daughter reads a lot of it, and even writes some. She found it, thought it was really good, gave it to Randi.”

“I still don’t get it. Is this centered around Kylo Ren, or—"

“No. It’s an RPF, a Real Person Fiction. This one is about you.”

Adam hit the brake hard, almost missing the stoplight.

“About me? Not Ben Solo, Charlie Barber or Clyde fucking Logan?”

“Nope.”

Adam’s voice was louder now, his irritation reaching a peak. “Flip Zimmerman?? Fucking….Ronnie Peterson?”

Bobby chuckled in spite of himself. “Nope. Adam designated Driver. “

Adam stopped. He just could not wrap his head around this; none of it made sense. “How can… fiction? About a real person?”

“Look, Adam. It sounds weird, I know. But just take a look at it, and if you hate it you can tell Randi yourself. Okay?

“Fine, just…. email it to me, the link, or…whatever.”

“She didn’t give that to me. I forget the title; something with “tomorrow” in it. She said you can find it on AO3 if you search for the author’s name. It’s, uh…..’Flavor of Kylo’.”

“’Flavor of….’” he snickered. For Chrissake. “The fuck is AO3?”

“’Archive of Our Own.’ Huge fanfiction site. Look, Randi’s calling, I gotta go.” The line went dead.

“Tell her I said she’s fucking crazy,” he muttered to dead air.

Wednesday, 4:05 pm. Adam’s home office.

Adam was at his desk, surrounded by piles of scripts. Most of the ones in the pile did not interest him or were scripts that would likely never get made because the studio wouldn’t greenlight them for one reason or another. He sighed and powered up his laptop.

Sifting through emails, he found the one from Bobby at Gersh and clicked on it. The subject was: PLEASE READ per Randi. Oh, yeah. The stupid fanfiction thing. Well, he needed a break anyway. Couldn’t hurt to take a few minutes to look the thing over; that way, he could at least tell Randi he read it.

He clicked on the link for AO3.org. On the main page of Archive of Our Own, also known as the Organization for Transformative Works, he read the mission statement. Interesting to note that it was created and run by fans since 2007, a non-profit that sought to “protect and preserve the history and culture of fanworks in its many forms.” Hmmm…interesting. He read on: “We believe that fanworks are transformative and that transformative works are legitimate.”

Ok, well. Maybe his immediate dismissal of all fanfiction as “garbage” was a bit rash.

He read further, learning that all the writers on AO3 used a pseudonym (or”pseud”), sometimes more than one. Obviously, this was a privacy issue since a good deal of the stuff was known to be pretty lurid and lascivious. He didn't know much about fanfiction, but he did know that.

Bobby didn’t menion the title of the story, just the author: FlavorofKylo. Seeing that again, this time in print, made Adam chuckle. “Flavor of Kylo,” he snorted. 'Taste of Kylo’…fucking—“ he stopped, suddenly seizing on the sexual undertones of the name.

Adam wasn’t sure how to search, so he tried the “People” tab and typed in “FlavorofKylo.” It returned a listing for several fictions. Unsure what to look for, he started to pore through them and saw that they were grouped by fandom and character names. Kylo Ren, 7 works; Sons of Anarchy, 2… Adam Driver, 1. Chewing on his lower lip, and clicked on it. “All Your Tomorrows” was the title. Adam cleared his throat. By now, his curiosity was piqued. He started to read.

Forty minutes later, Adam dialed Randi’s number; she didn’t pick up.

“Hey, I just read that fan fiction you wanted me to look at. Call me as soon as you get this.”

She probably wouldn’t get back to him tonight, he knew, but maybe he’d get lucky. He had questions.

Thursday, 8:50 am Brooklyn, NY The Driver home

“Any idea what time you’ll be home, honey?” Joanne called from the kitchen. Adam was in the foyer, rifling through mail he’d missed over the past few days. He was obviously distracted.

“Mmm, what was that?” Adam asked, coffee and phone in hand.

Joanne sighed. “Earth to Adam, come in…?”

“Sorry,” he said, “I’ve got some stuff on my mind, thinking about a possible new project.”

“Can I help?”

“Uhh, not really, babe. It’s something Randi sent over for me to look at. I’m sorry. We’ll spend some time this evening, order in dinner, maybe? Watch a movie?”

“I have that family thing tonight, at my sister’s. I thought you were coming…?”

Adam grimaced. “Ahh, shit. I totally blanked on that. Sure, I’ll be there. What time does it start?”

“Seven.”

He nodded. “Okay. See you later. Love you.” He gave her a quick kiss and dashed out to the garage.

Adam punched in Randi’s number while the car warmed up. His fingers drummed anxiously on the steering wheel and then he heard her voice.

“Hey, Adam. How’s it going?”

“I’m good, but we need to talk about that story.”

“The fanfiction?” Randi sounded amused and it bothered him a little. “Bobby told me you weren’t interested.”

“Well, that was before I actually read it. It’s nothing like what I expected. Well, honestly, I didn’t know what to expect. I’m on my way into the city. Do you have time for a quick meeting at some point today?”

“Ah, not really, I’m pretty slammed. My only window is between 2 and 2:30, and—“

“Randy, just give me twenty minutes. Please.”

Her heard her heavy sigh; she just couldn’t say no to Adam. “All right, call me later when you’re in the area.”

“You’re the best, Randi.”

______________________________________________________ Thursday, 2:03 pm The Gersh Agency, New York City

“It’s not like anything I’ve read before. I want to do this.”

Randi looked at Adam, her shoulders shaking in an almost silent laugh.

Adam held up his hand. “I know, I know. I shouldn’t have made assumptions. So, how would we go about finding her, or him? I mean, I’m assuming it’s a her.” He realized he was hoping it was a her, though he had no idea why.

Randi agreed. “Oh, I’m pretty sure the writer’s female. Well, my daughter could probably track her down. She’s on pretty much every social networking site. She’s found people before.”

“She’s a junior, isn’t she? I’m surprised it doesn’t bother you that she reads this stuff.”

“I can’t police her fantasy life, Adam. She’s gonna be exposed to sex and violence one way or another. Besides, I want my daughter to be a free thinker."

“She doesn’t write Star Wars stuff, does she?”

Randi smiled. “Avengers. She’s obsessed with Tony Stark and Thor. She reads a lot of different stuff, which is how she found the RPF on you. Look, I’m glad it’s something you’d like to consider, but turning this into an actual script is easier said than done.”

“Well, then why bring it to me?”

“I didn’t say it couldn’t be done, just that it could get complicated. But if it works…” she released a breath, “Man oh man, it has the potential for a great story.”

“Yeah, I think so, too.” Adam nodded. “Alright, let’s just say, if we are able to find this person and if she agrees to do it, who’s writing it? And am I playing myself, like some weird extended cameo? I mean, it could be funny, but...”

Randy grinned. “Ever heard of a little movie called, 'Being John Malkovich'?”

“Huh. I do remember that,” he mused. “Quirky little film.”

“Also, I’m no writer,” Randi began,” but what if we changed the name of the actor? That way you wouldn’t actually be playing yourself.”

Adam lips quirked into a lopsided grin. “Yeah. It even adds to the irony of the whole thing. Ok, great. So, what’s next?”

Randi shrugged. “We find the writer.”

__________________________________________________

Chapter 2 Cherchez La Femme

Thursday, 5:32pm Adam’s home office

Adam had been sitting at his computer since he got home, poring through more fanfiction on the AO3 website. Having learned just the little he had so far, he was fascinated. Up until now, he’d been unaware of the sheer magnitude of the enterprise—so many fandoms, and Star Wars alone was gigantic, encompassing not just the most recent trilogy but the first two as well. The pairing of Kylo/Ben and Rey story really seemed to spark the imaginations of the fans. He was a bit confused by the “reader x” type stories, which were meant to encourage the reader to place himself or herself at the center. But isn’t that what good fiction does anyway, make the reader identify with the protagonist? To specifically designate the main character as “you” seemed awkward and unnecessary to Adam, but hey, who was he to judge?

When he thought about it, that only made “ All Your Tomorows” rarer; it was a Real Person Fiction written from a first person point of view.

He glanced at some of the other fanfics written by the same author and wondered if she wrote other things as well. The writing was solid, much better than anything he would have expected from fanfiction, although he was fast realizing how little he knew about the subject. There were a couple of shorter fics that were pretty dark, and most centered around Kylo Ren, Ben and Rey. He was quickly getting a sense of why people used psuedonyms, although most of what he was reading, at least FlavorofKylo’s work, fell more along the lines of erotica than smut. It had a plot; the characters had some complexity. Some of the shorter fictions might have made for an interesting series of dark vignettes.

A little after 6, Joanne popped her head into his office door.

“You almost ready, babe?”

Shit, no, he wasn’t ready. He had been completely zoned out, sitting in his office for an hour and a half, getting lost in fanfiction, all of which was centered on one of his characters, or on him personally. Adam knew all too well that there were countless women willing to throw themselves at him at any given time, a prospect which had become off-putting and rather scary in its scope and invasive nature. This, however, was different. No one was approaching him on the street, invading his personal space, gawking at him. No, this expression of desire was stealthier, and far more seductive, even if he didn’t want it to be. In a weird way, it was infiltrating him—his brain, his blood, his bones. After nearly two hours immersed in fanfiction inspired by his characters—and ultimately, by he himself-- his head was buzzing. Worse yet, he was now undeniably, irrepressibly…...horny.

He looked up at his beautiful wife. “Shit, honey. I lost track of time. Just reading.” He clicked off the website quickly. “I’ll, uh just jump in the shower and be ready in no time, I promise.”

Joanne sighed. “You’re gonna make us late,” she murmured.

“I’m sorry,” he pouted.

“Yeah, yeah, just hurry up.”

Adam’s thoughts were awhirl as he rose from his chair, dismayed by the erection that was all too evident through his pants. He moved quickly down the hall and to the bathroom; Joanne didn’t need to see it. It would only invite a barrage of questions that he was not prepared to answer.

In fanfiction, like any kind of art that represents desire in the heart of the artist, the potential satisfaction of that desire in the real world is never the point. It is the expression of the desire itself that matters. As an actor, Adam knew this; he understood.

After reading a handful of these fics, he felt desired in a way completely unlike the experience of meeting fans in public. In his office, when he was reading, no one was looking over his shoulder, no one was judging; there was no threat of physical contact, violent or otherwise. There was no obligation to behave a certain way, to deal with the expectations or attentions of another person. It was all fantasy, a flirtation between the text and his imagination. And that had to be held sacred, he realized. What had Randi said? “I can’t police her fantasy life.” She was right. There was no proper or acceptable way to police the world of fantasy. Trying to censor the unapologetically lustful and uninhibited world of fanfiction would be like trying to police desire itself: not only impossible, but a crime unto itself. Human beings must be allowed their fantasies, or we risk turning our world into an Orwellian nightmare.

He found himself wondering about this author. Who was she? What did she do for a living? How old was she? What were her dreams? What did she look like?

Adam entered the shower, making sure the water was nice and hot. As soon as he started to scrub himself, his hand, almost involuntarily, wrapped tightly around the head of his cock, now pulsing with need, and he started to pump slowly, a low groan rising in his throat. It was just too much; he hadn’t been this pent up in a long time. Ninety minutes of reading about women on their knees in front of Kylo Ren and images of Rey on her back with her legs spread open had put his libido into overdrive. He came in less than a minute, whole body shuddering, wracked with pleasure.

Holy shit; he was turning into a fucking teenager.

______________________________________________________

Friday morning, 11:52 am Adam’s home office

Today was a work-at-home kind of day for Adam so at noon, he was still in the pajama pants and undershirt he liked to sleep in. He’d been reading scripts, making notes and taking calls since a little after nine. It was time for a break. There hadn’t been any emails from Randi yet so he decided to shoot her a quick text:

Adam: Anything new on that project?

He waited for a response. After a couple of minutes, the bubbles started moving.

Randi: I’m in a meeting. Call Bobby.

He dialed; Bobby picked up on the first ring.

“Hey, it’s Adam. What’s going on?”

“Hi Adam, Randi was expecting you to call. We don’t know anything yet other than that she lives in New York. It’s in the profile. Not much else there, though. Her daughter is working on it, but she does have to play student right now, so, you know.”

Adam’s eyebrows lifted. “Well, that’s a start.” Profile? Hmm--he hadn’t looked at that.

“Yeah, apparently some writers will post more information on themselves, info on their social media, blogs and stuff. This one doesn’t have any of that stuff, of if she does, it’s not listed.”

“Okay,” he exhaled. “Well, call me the minute you learn anything more useful. Thanks, Bobby.”

“You got it.”

Profile? Somehow he hadn't thought to look at the profile. Adam opened up AO3 again and went back to the main page for FlavorofKylo. The profile picture was a wolf, not much help. As Bobby said, it mentioned she lived “Somewhere in New York”. There was a brief bio listing the fandoms she wrote for; under inspiration she’d listed: The Doors, The Who, Hendrix, and Joan Jett, along with her favorite directors. That was about it.

Okay, well with musical taste like that, she was no millennial. Probably someone in her forties or maybe even older.

Adam scoured the page for any other clue as to who this person might be, but there was nothing. He was about to click off but then decided to take another look at the story. He wanted to make some notes on things that might need to be changed for a script. That’s when he noticed something weird. The fic had been updated; she was still writing it! He went right to the new chapter and started reading.

Halfway through the chapter, his face started to grow hot, and that telltale tension returned to his groin. She was describing giving him a blow job.

He groaned and shut the computer as quickly as he could, palming himself through his pajama bottoms. Fuck. Second day in a row.

He sent a quick text to Randi:

Adam: That fanfic has been updated. There’s sexual content now. Not sure I can do it. Call me.

Two hours later, Randi finally called him.

“So, what’s the problem?”

“Did you read it? The new chapter?”

“Yeah, I just read it, so what?”

“I-I’m not sure I’m comfortable with this,” he stammered.

Randi let out a huge breath. “Seriously? Adam, since when are you so Puritanical? Do you remember working on a little series called ‘Girls’ in which your character routinely has sex onscreen, jerks off—"

“Totally different, Randi. I was playing a character. Adam Sackler; not Adam Driver.”

“Okay, so? If we change the name of the actor, as we discussed, then you’re no longer playing yourself, right? Remember, its still fiction!"

That gave him pause. “Yes, but….I’m….I don’t know if I’ll be able to look this person in the face, even if we do ever find her…..or him.”

“Let’s just take it one step at a time. If we can find her and she agrees to a meeting, we can have Bobby meet with her. Or I will. Did you want to have that scene taken out?”

“Not necessarily,” he mused. “It’s just, I…I gotta think about this.”

“Well, have you run it by Joanne yet?”

“Nooo, no. I’m not ready to do that.”

“Hmm, well that’s not like you.” He noted the surprise in her voice. “I gotta go. We’ll talk later, okay?” She rang off.

Later that evening, Adam was getting ready to watch a movie with Joanne when the notification on his phone sounded.

Randi: We found her. We have a name, workplace and email. Talk tomorrow.

Shit. ______________________________________________________

Saturday, 10:30am Adam’s home office

“She works at CUNY. Teaches English. We have an email address. That’s all we need to get to the next step.”

“Really, a professor?”

“Adjunct. Her real name is Erica. There’s no personal phone number listed, but we do have her email.”

Adam chewed on a fingernail. “Okay. This is good. So then, email her.”

“Well, I’ll have Bobby take care of it, but I was thinking….” There was a long pause.

“Randi? Spit it out.”

“What if you emailed her yourself?”

Adam huffed a laugh. “No, ma’am. Are you nuts?”

“I knew you’d say that, but I had to ask. Okay. I’ll have Bobby get it out Monday morning.”

“Fine. I started making notes on some possible changes to bring up.”

“And? What about that….the fellatio scene? Do you want to keep it?”

Adam rolled his tongue around his cheek and closed his eyes. He’d been trying hard not to think about that scene. He didn’t like how his body responded when he did.

“I haven’t decided yet.”

“Okay. Go spend some time with your family. We’ll talk Monday.”

“Sure. Have him bcc me on the email, would you? Thanks.”

The minute he hung up the phone, Adam was tempted to look her up on the CUNY website. Maybe he could find out something more-but NO.  
He was not going to do this. And no more fanfiction today either. He had people and things that needed his immediate attention. No point in worrying about what would come next when it was out of your control.

Chapter 3. No One Gets to Tell You What to Think

Sunday morning, 8:45am. Kitchen of the Driver Home

The smell of pancakes and sausage was perfuming the air as Adam walked into the kitchen.

“Smells great, hon.” He poured coffee into his favorite mug.

Joanne gestured toward the table where his cellphone was sitting. “You must have a message; it was beeping.”

Like lightning, Adam swooped down on the phone and clicked on the text from Randi.

Randi: She’s open to a meeting next week. Which day can you do it?

Shit, this was all happening really fast. He shot a quick glance at Joanne. “Gotta make a quick call,” he muttered and dashed down the hall to his office.

He paced, waiting for Randi to pick up.

“Morning, Adam. I didn’t want to call you so early on a Sunday.”

“I thought Bobby was going to email her on Monday? I mean—how does that look?

“Well, he misunderstood and sent it yesterday. I don’t think she really cares what day it was. She seemed really excited to do a meeting. Surprise, surprise,” Randi chuckled.

Adam felt his heart rate pickup just the slightest bit.

“Okay, when are you doing it?”

“Well, I was going to suggest either Wednesday or Friday, but I wanted to check with you and see if you wanted to be included since you’re out of town until Wednesday night. And then it’ll depend on her availability. I know she teaches classes three days a week. Are you in?”

Adam stood silently, fists clenching and un-clenching. His jaw worked but no sound came out.

“Adam?”

“Yeah, just-just make it for whenever and if I can, I’ll show up. That’s the best I can tell you.”

That old chestnut drifted through his mind: Be careful what you wish for.

Adam pocketed his phone and walked back to the dining room. Joanne was just putting breakfast on the table. Adam forced a thin smile and sat down.

“What was that all about?” she asked.

“Oh, just Randi. It’s that new project I mentioned. She’s trying to set up a meeting with the writer."

“Who’s the writer?”

“Ahh, she’s…she’s nobody you’d know. An unknown.” Adam poured a generous serving of syrup on his pancakes as Joanne watched. Something was off; she knew her husband.

“Why do I get the feeling there’s something you're not telling me? _____________________________________________________

The meeting was set for Friday afternoon at the Gersh office. Adam still seemed non-committal when Randi told him about it, but he did ask for the time.

“I’ll try to make it,” was all he said.

He still had not completely made peace with the idea of meeting someone who had written something personal about him, something that felt so intimate, fictional or not. Maybe he would just hand his notes over to Randi and have her handle it. But another part of him was very curious to meet her. Up until now, she’d been concealed behind a veil of anonymity. But when that anonymity was gone, well…..things could get weird.

______________________________________________________ Friday, 3:25 pm The Gersh Agency, New York

The meeting started a few minutes after 3. Randi explained to Erica that she wasn’t sure Adam would make it, so when he hadn’t shown up by ten after, they decided to start without him.

Adam stood in the hallway outside the door for several minutes, preparing himself. If he could shoot three movies as part of the beloved Star Wars franchise, he could do this.

It was nearly 3:30 when he pushed the door open and three heads turned to face him. He walked slowly to the table wearing his most charming smile.

“Sorry I’m late, guys,” he murmured. He stopped just beside the writer’s chair. She was gazing up at him with something like adoration, and it immediately reminded him that he had the upper hand.

“You must be Erica,” he said, holding out his large hand. “I’m Adam.” Her hand was cool as he wrapped it in his. She released a heavy sigh; Adam could see how blown her pupils were. Pretty green eyes. Curly brown hair, little bit of grey.

“I know,” she said, with a smirk. Randi and Bobby chuckled.

Adam took the chair right beside her. All business, Randi launched right back into the matter at hand.

“Great, glad you made it, Adam. We were discussing some things that might need to be changed.“

As Randi droned on, Adam looked at Erica through the corner of his eye, and it seemed she was sneaking glances at him at the same time. The crow’s feet and smile lines betrayed her age, but she was still attractive. Adam guessed she must have been quite lovely when she was younger.

“Adam?” Randi said again. He snapped back to attention.

“Yes?”

“The list, your notes. Did you bring them?”

He dug out the notebook from his messenger bag and started rifling through it, all the while aware of Erica beside him, watching him. He could sense her nervousness; she was a little fidgety and kept biting her lip. He found it kind of cute.

“Erica agreed to changing the name of the actor, so that’s not an issue,” Randi said. “And she said she’d like to try writing it.”

Adam raised his eyebrows and his eyes met hers. “Really? Have you written scripts before?”

“Yes, I was actually a film major as an undergrad. I studied screenwriting, and yes—I have various half-finished or unproduced screenplays sitting around my apartment. I always wanted to produce one in the guerilla filmmaking style, you know? Like Spike Lee when he made 'She's Gotta Have It'? Well, that’s going back before people were shooting stuff digitally. I guess I’m betraying my age.” She shrugged.

Randi interjected. “Yes, well, just so you know, script changes are usually ongoing until a studio green-lights a project.”

“I get that,” she nodded.

“Well, great. We have all your contact information. Do you have any other questions for us, Erica?”

“Not right now, but I’ll definitely give you a call if I think of anything.”

“Wonderful. Yes, let us know when you have something drafted and we’ll set up another meeting, okay? Adam? Didn’t you have something…”

“Yes, I was….” He looked at Erica. “Could we go have coffee? I have a few other things I’d like to discuss about the story.”

She blinked. What was in her mind was so clearly spelled out on her face. Adam Driver just asked me out for coffee. And what do you say to that? You say:  
“I’d love to.”

The meeting broke up; thank-yous and good-byes were passed all around, and Adam and Erica left the building. He was wearing a hoodie and pulled the hood up in the elevator.

“It’s pretty hard for me to go anywhere these days without getting mobbed,” he said.

“I can imagine.”

His eyes roamed over her freely. She was quite tall, just under six feet, but she carried herself with a kind of athletic grace. She wore a chunky green sweater with black leggings and boots; her legs were very long.

There was a strange kind of electricity crackling in the air between them as they walked down the block to Bluestone coffee.

“Have you been writing fanfiction long?” he asked.

“Not really. A few months. I had writer’s block for a really long time, so this started as an attempt to get me back to writing. I have a play that I’m working on.”

“A play? I'd love to hear about it.”

Once they were seated with their coffees and they'd discussed her play, he said,” I have to admit I was kind of nervous about meeting you. To have someone you don’t know writing about you is, uhh—odd. I’m sure you can imagine.”

“I understand,” she said. “I hope you weren’t put off by anything. It’s all just fantasy for us writers.”

“But you know, the way you addressed fame, and the whole privacy issue is very insightful.”

She smiled and lowered her eyes shyly. “Well, thanks. That means a lot coming from you." When she looked back at him, she was flushed. Adam found himself charmed. It made it easier to bring up the scene.

“There is uh….one scene that I wasn’t sure we should keep….” He started.

She licked her lips nervously. “I think I know which one you mean.” She paused. “The uh…scene in the last chapter when she offers to give him a blow job, right?”

Adam felt a little shiver down his back. Their gazes were locked, and heat was rising from his groin. He swallowed thickly.

"Ya. That’s the one,” he managed.

Don’t get hard. Don’t get hard. Don’t get hard. Don’t get hard.

“Okay,” she said slowly. “If you think that’s necessary. I didn’t find it to be gratuitous, though, it…um, illustrates the connection between them….”

“I agree, I agree,” he nodded, trying to stay cool as a cucumber. “Just not sure it needs to be…in there.”

“Well, I’m curious, if you’d indulge me. Is that from a purely artistic perspective? Or is it maybe because you don’t think your wife would appreciate it?” She asked softly. The corner of her mouth tugged up in amusement. Her lips were very pink and they looked full and soft, and suddenly he was imagining how they’d feel wrapped around his cock. She licked her lips. Did she know what he was thinking? 

Don't get hard. Don't get....ahh, fuck.

“Uhh…a little of both, I think,” he said, voice throaty. Shit. His pants were starting to feel tight.

“I understand,” she nodded. “Well, why don’t you think about it. You know how to reach me if you…make a decision.” She smiled, the kind of smile a cat would give a canary. “I’ll get started on the script.” She stood up. “Thank you so much Adam, for the coffee and the meeting, and...if you ever want art and life to meet...." she shrugged "let me know." .

“Thanks. It’s been a pleasure,” he said, half rising and doing his best to conceal his partial erection. "Really."

She turned to leave, but at the last second turned back around and leaned close to him, her mouth at his ear, and whispered: “She wouldn’t have to know.” Her green eyes flashed, and then she was gone.

Adam sat in his seat for another fifteen minutes, nursing the dregs of his coffee. This had NOT gone the way he expected.

______________________________________________________

A couple of weeks later, on a Saturday afternoon, Erica was home in her Queens apartment grading papers. Someone rang the downstairs bell. Her good friend, Christa, piped up from the kitchen.

“Are you expecting anyone?”

“Nope,” she said, barely paying attention.

Christa pressed the intercom. “Who is it?”

A deep voice came through, crackling a bit: “It’s Adam.”

Christa turned back to Erica, puzzled, and their eyes met.

“Oh, no,” Erica groaned. “He can’t be here. I look like crap.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Well, buzz him in and….uh, stall him for a few minutes okay? I need to change.”

Shit. She dashed off to the bedroom and scrambled to find a better looking top that the torn, stained t-shirt she had on. She slipped into the bathroom to straighten her hair and freshen her makeup.

When she came out ten minutes later, Adam Driver was sitting on the couch in her living room, having a conversation with Christa. As soon as Erica entered the room, Christa gracefully removed herself like a good friend would in such a situation.

“Hi,” she said, as casually as she possibly could. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“I know, I’m sorry. Is it okay? It was a very…sudden decision.”

She quirked her eyebrow at him. “I see. Can I get you something to drink? Coffee, water….maybe a beer? Wine?”

Adam chuckled. “Yeah, why not. I’ll have a beer.”

Erica nodded and went into the kitchen. The mantra in her head would not stop:

 _Adam Driver is on my couch…Adam Driver is on my couch….Adam Driver is on my couch_ …

She emerged a few minutes later with a beer for him, glass of white wine for herself and a small bowl of almonds. Doing her utmost to remain iceberg-cool, she placed the tray on the coffee table and sat a safe distance away from Adam. The minute she sat down, though, that unmistakable electricity between them was back.

Adam sat, legs spread, bouncing nervously. Erica suddenly realized that this time he was on her turf; it was HIS turn to be nervous. Good. She took a sip of her wine and glanced over at him; he had yet to say a word.

“So, Adam…what brings you all the way out to Queens? Don’t tell me you were in the neighborhood.”

“Ha ha," he grinned. "Look, I’ve been thinking a lot about what we talked about with that... scene.”

“Ahh, yes. The scene,” she murmured with a little smile. “And?”

“I think we should….keep it in. You’re right, it does help to….”she watched his throat bob, eyes drifting over to meet hers. He caught the little smirk on her lips. “….illustrate the connection, whatever it is, between them.”

She nodded slowly. “Ah, yes. I agree.” She didn’t move, just sat patiently, waiting to see what he would do.

“You know, I’ve been talking to some people about RPF, the Real-Person-Fiction thing. I’ve read a lot of negative things about it, from people in the industry and from fans. But you know, I think things should be judged on a case-by-case basis. I don’t want to feel bad about….” He took a deep breath, and paused—“wanting certain things. Thinking certain things. And I don’t think anybody should. Does that make sense?”

Erica smiled at him knowingly. “More than you know. No one gets to tell you what to think or what to feel…” she inched a little closer to him on the couch. He didn’t move. His legs were spread wide, hands resting on his thighs as he listened to her.

Neither one spoke or moved for what felt like a long time. They sat, eyes locked, and the energy between them buzzed softly, with no outlet. Finally she rose, moving slowly, and stood in front of him. She sank down to her knees between his legs, never breaking their shared gaze. She did not touch him or speak. At last, Adam realized: she was waiting for a signal from him, to know what he wanted.

He shifted his hands, placing his palms flat on the couch beside him. Giving assent. He licked his lips, and a "come-hither" smile played across them.

Erica moved closer, running a hand up each of his broad thighs, tracing the muscles. She was in awe of this man: his power, his beauty, his talent, his intelligence. She shifted forward, close enough so that her mouth almost met his, just the ghost of a kiss…and then she reached for his zipper and tugged it down slowly.  
.  
Neither one spoke; there was no need. They followed each other’s signals. Adam watched every move she made. When his cock was freed, she took him in hand; he was already partially erect but quickly grew as she held him, fingertips stroking lightly. She took him into her warm mouth, softly, reverently….tracing the head with her tongue, reveling in the warm saltiness of his skin. She licked a stripe up the length of him, dragging her tongue slowly from the base to the tip. He groaned, a deep, primal sound, as waves of pure pleasure washed over his body. His head tipped back and he watched her through lowered lids, lips parted.

"Fuck...that feels _so fucking good_ ," he breathed.

And then she did it again. And again, slowly, savoring his taste before finally taking him deeper into her throat. She took her time, worshiping his cock, enjoying every little reaction from Adam. The sound of his breaths coming faster, the little grunts, his body tensing beneath her, the whispered expletives under his breath--until his climax brought him crashing hard over the edge of a cliff in a full body shudder, panting, eyes rolling back, and he spent himself in her mouth with a low, deep growl. She swallowed it all, every drop, licking him off her lips afterwards, drunk on his taste.

He was sitting, boneless, almost drowsy from the delicious catharsis. His eyes had closed for a moment, and he felt her lips brush his eyelids. Adam looked at her then, sitting right in front of him with a little smile.

“Promise me you won’t feel guilty about this, or regret it. You gave me something I’ve wanted for a long time. We never have to speak about it again. Do you promise?”

He nodded. “I do,” he said. “That was incredible. You….are incredible. Can I kiss you?”

A little moan escaped her throat, she couldn’t help it. Adam pulled her close and captured her lips in a fiery kiss that turned her bones to jelly, lighting up her lower belly and making her even wetter. It was the kind of kiss that was almost better than sex. Almost.

He stood, rearranging his clothes. “I’ll be speaking to you soon,” he said. She smiled at him, a sweet, patient smile.

Outside on the street, he got into his waiting limo and sat limp. She was right: Joanne would not need to know. Right?

**Author's Note:**

> See the Epilogue: "Carpe Diem"
> 
> Just another reminder, for any of you who are bothered by the fact that this is an RPF about a real person who is married. IT IS FICTION. IT IS BASED ON FANTASY. 
> 
> Fiction, people. FICTION!!
> 
> Thank you very much, and if you don't approve, sorry but not sorry.


End file.
